


Whipping Boy Done Wrong

by dragonflybeach



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, goes AU after s12e08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 04:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12291477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflybeach/pseuds/dragonflybeach
Summary: Locked in a top secret government installation with agents who plan to kill them and Lucifer in his head, Sam has to turn to the dark side to save himself and his brother.Written mostly during the mid-season hiatus after s12e08 using scenes from the s12e09 promo so it became AU as of s12e09. There is some tying up of loose ends too.Title from Metallica's The Unforgiven.





	Whipping Boy Done Wrong

_“Didya miss me, Sammy? I've missed you. And look where we are. Another cage. Just like home.”_

_“But you ... you're not real. We sent you back to Hell!”_

_"Yeah, you sent me to Hell, Sam. And I'm not happy about that. But you know what? Just Hell, not to The Cage. Nope, nope, nope. The incantation sent me to Hell, and I presume Rowena was trying to work the spell to put me back in The Cage, but she just wasn't fast enough. Your mermaid egg there only sent me back to the upper recesses of Hell. I kicked the door open and walked out. An-gel." The man singsonged and then laughed. "And then I came back to find you, Sammy! Ah, here we are, together again in lock down, just like old times. Only one bed, but we know how to share, don't we, Sam?"_

* * *

 

 

"What did you do to the president?" the man asked for the seventh time.

 

"I want to speak to my brother." Sam repeated for the eleventh time.

 

"Your Miranda rights allow you to speak with an attorney." the agent snorted. "Not your brother."

 

"My brother is my attorney." Sam shrugged, finger rubbing over a scratch on the table. "I didn't get my one phone call."

 

"That's not a federally protected right." the agent said dismissively.

 

"You're acting like you've actually honored our rights." Sam replied, shrugging again and scratching the table with a paper clip he had taken from the papers in front of the agent. "We haven't been arraigned. We haven't seen a judge. We haven't ... "

 

"Yeah, yeah." the agent nodded, slapping his pen down on the table. "I forgot. You were a pre-law major. Probably would have gotten a full ride to law school, except you bailed the weekend before the interview to go on a cross country murder spree instead."

 

Sam looked up, meeting the agent's gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Exactly how much of that can you prove?"

 

"I don't care how much we prove." the agent leaned forward, getting closer to Sam than he had been so far. "As long as we prove enough to keep you and your psycho brother off the streets for the rest of your lives."

 

Sam shifted in his chair, and before the agent could pull back, Sam's manacled hands were around his throat.

 

They didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but his thumbs put just enough pressure on the man's windpipe to be uncomfortable.

 

"I want to see my brother." Sam repeated slowly, looking directly into the agent's eyes.

 

The door flew open with assorted shouts of "Put your hands up!" "Let go of him!" and "Freeze Winchester!"

 

Sam released the man, and the agent jumped backwards, gasping.

 

Sam held his hands up in front of him, fingers splayed to show they were empty, still seated at the table.

 

Agent Sanchez walked in, his weapon pointed unwaveringly at the prisoner's face, who looked completely bored.

 

"If you want my cooperation," Sam told him. "Let me see my brother."

 

"You just tried to kill my agent," Sanchez snapped. "And you want favors from me?"

 

"I didn't try to kill your agent." Sam replied calmly. "I made a point. If I had wanted to kill him, I had a much better chance about 12 minutes ago. You should probably review the tape with your agent and show him where he screwed up." 

 

"So I'm supposed to do you a favor because you didn't kill someone?" Sanchez asked acidly.

 

"I'm not asking for a favor." Sam shrugged. "I asked to see my brother. He," Sam pointed at the agent he had grabbed, who was now as far from Sam as possible, "said that I had the right to an attorney. My brother and I wish to act as each other's attorneys."

 

"Who were you working with on the inside?" Sanchez demanded, finally lowering the gun. "How did you get into that motel room?"

 

"No one." Sam shook his head. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe we saved the president's life by getting him away from whoever was trying to harm him?"

 

Sanchez rolled his eyes. "No."

 

"What does he say?" Sam asked. "What did he tell you about the time between when the agent dropped dead in the hotel and when you found us with him?"

 

Sanchez raised the gun again, suddenly agitated. "How did you know about that? How did you know about Agent Graff's death?"

 

Sam looked at him calmly.

 

Sanchez raised the gun higher, pressing the end of the barrel into the skin just above Sam's right eyebrow. "You have ten seconds to start talking."

 

"Let me see my brother." Sam repeated.

 

"You're not going to see your brother!" Sanchez shouted. "What drug did you use on the president? How was it administered?"

 

"I want to talk to my attorney before I answer any more questions." Sam said. "My attorney's name is Dean Winchester."

 

Sanchez made a noise of frustration, pulling the gun away from Sam's head as he turned and kicked the table leg hard enough to make the other agents jump. "Take him back to his cell." Sanchez ordered.

 

Three agents stepped forward, one pulling Sam out of his chair roughly while the other two held their weapons pointed at the prisoner. The one who stood Sam up bent to secure his wrist shackles to his ankle chains, then followed behind as the two with guns walked Sam back to his cell.

 

The door closed, and a few minutes later opened again. A white haired man stepped in.

 

"We both know you were watching through the two way glass." Sanchez nodded at the window. "So you know that was as useless as every other interrogation we've attempted in the past few weeks."

 

"Maybe we should let them see each other." Camp suggested. "Neither one of them will tell us anything alone."

 

"You must be out of your mind." Sanchez huffed. “From what we’re piecing together, every time the two of them are in the same place, they manage to escape custody. I think we're taking a huge risk even keeping them in the same building, whether they can see each other or not.”

 

“Yeah, but we still don’t know how they keep managing to escape death.” Camp shrugged. “Or what they’ve done to the president. Or whether they were working alone.” The older agent leaned over and looked at the surface of the table. “Did none of you notice that he managed to scratch a message into the table?”

 

He pointed to the name Sam and the date carved into the surface.

 

“Damn.” Sanchez sighed, then toggled his radio. “Sam Winchester has a paperclip. Find it before he uses it to escape.”

* * *

  

_"... reason, don't need rhyme, ain't nothing I would rather do, going down, party time, my friend Sam is gonna be there too..." Lucifer paused and looked at him. "Sing it with me, Sammy! I'm on the highway to Hell, highway to Hell ... "_

 

* * *

 

 

Sanchez walked into the monitoring center.

 

"So he's doing it again?" he asked gesturing at the screen showing the younger Winchester apparently shouting at the wall.

 

"Yeah, been at it most of the morning." the guard snorted.

 

"Hit the sound." Sanchez instructed.

 

The room was filled with what seemed to be a one-sided argument in an unfamiliar language.

 

"Record that, find out what he's saying and what language he's saying it in." Sanchez told them.

 

"Sir," the other guard spoke for the first time. "We've had several language experts from Quantico come in and listen to him. They can't identify it."

 

"Look," Sanchez sighed. "He's a religious freak, right? Try ancient languages - Babylonian, Aramaic, Phoenician, that kind of stuff. If Quantico doesn't have someone, find Indiana Jones."

 

He went back to his office and the mountain of paperwork that accompanied keeping the Winchesters as guests of the federal government.

 

Four hours later, one of the junior agents stuck his head in the door, a manila folder in his hand.

 

"Hey boss?" Chalmers said. "We got something on Sam Winchester and his delusional ravings."

 

Sanchez waved him into the room. "So they are delusional ravings? We got a translation?"

 

"A rough one. But you were right, we weren't going old enough on the language." Chalmers sat down in front of the desk and slapped the folder onto the surface in front of him.

 

"So what? Phoenician?" Sanchez asked.

 

"Enochian." Chalmers told him. "And he is apparently talking to Lucifer. He seems to think Lucifer is in the cell with him and that he's going to be tortured and raped."

 

"Shit." Sanchez said, swiping his hands across his face. "Shit, shit, shit."

 

"I don't get it." Chalmers shook his head, with a puzzled look.

 

"The CIA, the NSA, the ISA, the CDC, and even the _University of Utah_ are all filing demands and counter-demands to have the Winchesters transferred to their custody. And with their presence here being classified _above_ top secret, how the hell did Utah even find out? Everyone wants to know how these guys are still alive after being declared dead half a dozen times. The CIA thinks they're foreign spies, the NSA thinks they're domestic terrorists, and Utah thinks they're government clones. If someone manages to get them out of here and into a less secure facility, we're screwed. Sam is obviously paranoid schizophrenic. One minute he’s screaming at Satan and the next he’s sitting there obsessively rubbing his hand. We're going to catch hell from the mental health activists for having him incarcerated, but if we release him to a mental ward, we might as well hand him the key to the front door and a bus pass. Dean is too slick. He's charming and persuasive and manipulative and probably the most dangerous person I've ever met. And their religious ramblings? Angels and demons and all that crap? If Dean can get the word out about how the government is persecuting him and his poor crazy brother, especially if Utah tells the world that the Winchesters are government clones, we're gonna have another Ruby Ridge on our hands. The Montana Freemen would be all over this shit." Sanchez leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

 

"So what do we do?" Chalmers asked.

 

Sanchez sat up and looked him in the eye. "We make sure he doesn't get the word out."

 

* * *

  

_"Sammy," Lucifer said, slow and drawn out. "You have to talk to me sometime. It's just you and me, Sam. No one else to talk to."_

_Sam turned his head, looking toward the door._

_"How long has it been since you've seen Dean?" Lucifer continued. "I mean, for all you know, he's probably dead. No one would tell you if he died, would they? They would want to keep your hopes up, that if you cooperate you'll be reunited with big brother. Or maybe he escaped. If he got out, and couldn't get to you? If he didn't know where you were? He would run to Castiel and leave your ass here. I mean you deserve it, right? You left him in Purgatory for a dog and a girl. You don't know that he's still just down the hall. They could have sent him to Guantanamo Bay by now. Huh. You don't know if you'll ever see him again or not."_

_"Shut UP!" Sam shouted. "You're not REAL!"_

_"See? I knew you'd talk to me Sammy. You're so easy."_

 

* * *

 

"So Dean," the older man pushed the folder to the side and leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "I'm Special Agent in Charge Dexter Camp. You understand what a Special Agent in Charge is, right? You know, since you've impersonated a few."

 

Dean looked at the older man, and then down at the table.

 

"I believe you're looking for this." Camp pointed to Sam's name scratched in the surface. "He's alive and well. Not being tortured."

 

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to see that for myself." Dean looked up at the man with a shark's smile.

 

"Unfortunately, we can't do that, Dean." Camp said. "You ever watch _NCIS_? That's Gibbs' number one rule. Or one of them, at least. _'Never let suspects stay together.'_ He has two number one rules, for some reason."

 

Dean reached for the folder.

 

"What do we have here?" Dean asked, flipping through the pages.

 

"Oh, just a few things we've pieced together about you and Sam over the years." Camp shrugged. "You want to tell us which ones are accurate and which aren't? Or which of those crimes were committed by you, and which were by your brother?"

 

"Gibbs' other number one rule is _'Never screw over your partner.'_ " Dean answered, pointing at Camp.

 

"So you admit that Sam was your partner in these crimes?" Camp asked.

 

"No." Dean shook his head. "I'm talking about _NCIS_. Ziva. Man, she could kick your ass. And then there's Abby, smarter than the rest of the team put together. I don't know which one I'd rather have on my side if I could only pick one."

 

“And then there’s DiNozzo.” Camp continued. “Kind of an ass, but a good man to have on your side when the shit goes down.”

 

“You know that talking about _NCIS_ is not going to make me suddenly spill my guts, right?” Dean said

 

“I didn’t figure it would.” Camp agreed. “But I’ve got to keep you in here for an hour, so it’s better than staring at the walls or being nasty to each other.”

 

“Why do you have to keep me an hour?” Dean asked, flipping through the file again.

 

“They’re cleaning your cell, and Sanchez thinks that if we keep questioning you and your brother, one of you will eventually give us something useful.” Camp shrugged.

 

“You know Sanchez is an idiot.” Dean snorted.

 

“You know I can’t agree with you when he’s recording this.” Camp smiled at Dean. He turned slightly in his chair. “You and your brother are obviously very close. Kelly Kline has a sister she’s very close to. Her sister just wants to bring her home. Kelly and her unborn baby.”

 

Dean looked up for a moment and met the agent’s eyes, then looked down to the folder again. “Yeah, probably not a good idea. There’s going to be a whole lot of trouble when she has that baby.”

 

“So she’s still alive?” Camp asked.

 

“As far as I know.” Dean said. “She walked out of that motel room alive and that’s the last I saw of her.”

 

“I think that might be the first honest answer you’ve given me, Dean.” Camp smiled.

 

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.” Dean answered, flipping a page in the file.

 

“Would you like to give me some more honest answers, Dean?” Camp continued. “How have you gotten a coroner to declare you dead multiple times?”

 

“One was a shapeshifter and one was a Leviathan.” Dean shrugged.

 

“Ah, and I thought we were starting to make a connection. There you had to go and ruin it.” Camp shook his head.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Roxxxxannnnnnne! You don’t have to put on the red light … ”_

_“Lucifer, stop.”_

_“Come on, Sammy, didn’t you see_ 48 Hours _? I was in a cage in Hell for like 12,000 years and I still managed to see it. You know that was Eddie Murphy’s first movie, and he got nominated for a Golden Globe? He was awesome, you know before he sold out and went to the other side and started doing Disney movies. What other prison movies have we seen?_ Jailhouse Rock _was such a joke … ”_

  

* * *

 

 

“So do you believe Winchester that they didn’t kill Kelly Kline?” Sanchez asked.

 

“You know, really, I do.” Camp shrugged. “Of course, I don’t believe her unborn baby is the Anti-Christ, and I think if the Winchesters ever caught up with her, she would be in mortal danger, but I do think Dean was telling the truth when he said they don’t know where she is.”

 

“Then where is she and why can’t we find her?” Sanchez said.

 

“Well, if you were an intelligent woman like her, and two nut jobs thought your unborn baby was the Anti-Christ, don’t you think you would try to hide out too?” Camp poked at the folder Dean left on the table. “Especially since no one knows we captured them. Maybe if she saw it on the news, she would come out of hiding. Maybe she’s fled the country. Who knows?”

 

“Is that what you think we should do?” Sanchez asked. “You think we should make an announcement that we have them in custody? You think we should tell the public that the president was incapacitated for three days and we don’t know what drug was administered or how? You think we should tell the country we’re holding a couple guys who have been declared dead twice for Sam and three times for Dean?”

 

“You know I don’t.” Camp shook his head. “What do you think we should do?”

 

“You want my opinion? We should take those two psychos out back. I cap one, you take the other, we grab an early lunch.” Sanchez gestured toward the door.

“That would be counterproductive.” Camp said. “I still think that I can eventually establish a rapport with Dean if we keep him isolated from his brother. I’m pretty certain that he’s been conditioned to withstand physical torture, so most of our enhanced interrogation techniques are not going to work on him. But from everything we have put together on him, he’s extremely emotionally dependent on his brother. If we can find a way to transfer some of that bond to another person, that’s probably going to be our best chance of getting some answers from him. I’m not sure he really believes all of Sam’s supernatural ramblings, but he convinces Sam that he does.”

“What about Sam?” Sanchez asked.

“The man thinks he’s rooming with the Devil.” Camp shook his head. “I’m not sure there’s even a point to trying to get useful information out of him. He’s scary smart though, I’ll give you that. Fluent in Enochian. They don’t teach that one through Babbel or Rosetta Stone. He had to have taught himself, because there’s no indication his dad spoke Enochian, or that Dean does.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“I like what they’ve done here, Sammy.” Lucifer walked from one side of the cell to the other, which only took three steps with his vessel’s long legs. “Industrial painted concrete and stainless steel, with drains in the floor. I bet they could just hose the blood right off the walls and have the crime scene cleaned up in under a minute. Or other bodily fluids.” He turned and grinned at Sam lasciviously. “How long you think it’s gonna take one of those guards to notice what a sweet ass you’re hiding under those baggy coveralls, Sammy?”_

 

* * *

 

 

Sam sat in the corner of his bed, against the wall, curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees.

 

The door opened, and an agent stepped in.

 

Unlike most of the others, he wasn't wearing body armor or carrying any obvious weapons.

 

"Hello Sam." he said, his eyes flashing red.

 

Sam gasped and flattened himself against the wall.

 

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus ... "

 

The guard's head shook briefly, almost as if he were having some sort of seizure.

 

"Moose!" he shouted over the prisoner's voice, still chanting in Latin. "It’s me."

 

Sam stopped his recitation and paused for a moment. "Crowley?"

 

"You have to get out of here." the demon said slowly, taking off his jacket to reveal an oozing cut on his arm.

 

"Get out?" Sam repeated, looking from the vessel's face to his arm and back, then shook his head. "No, I won't do that again."

 

The demon sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, they're going to kill you. And Squirrel. You have to do this to save yourself and your brother now, and then you can angst about it later."

 

"I can't." Sam shook his head.

 

"You've got to use the force, Sam." The demon said. "It's the only way you're getting out of here that doesn't involve a body bag. All you need is a few drops to jumpstart your powers. Ruby wasn’t kidding when she told you that you didn’t need the feather to fly. Her feeding you so much blood so often was her way of controlling you."

 

"I can't." Sam repeated. "My powers only worked on demons."

 

"Did Ruby tell you that?" Crowley asked. "Did it ever occur to you that she only had you use your powers against demons because that's what fit her agenda? Do you remember how Azazel’s other psychic children used their powers against humans?"

 

Sam covered the lower part of his face with his hands.

 

The demon pulled a small knife from his pocket and made the wound on his arm bigger. "The clock is ticking, Sam. Someone is going to look at those security cameras soon and realize I'm not supposed to be in here. This is the only way to save your brother."

 

Sam pulled his knees up to his chest, looking at his toes hanging off the side of the narrow bed.

 

"Sam, listen to me." the demon pleaded. "One of my demons has been possessing this agent for almost a week. Sanchez is setting you and Dean up. He's going to pretend that he's transporting you to another facility so you can be questioned by the NSA tonight. He has no intention of you ever getting there. You and Dean are going to be shot trying to escape. He'll make sure there are no security cameras, and the two of you will be executed. The demon notified me. Castiel and your mother will be waiting to pick you up, but you've got to get away from the Secret Service first. The only way you're going to do that is if you're juiced up."

 

Sam turned his face toward the demon, tilted his head and rolled his eyes. "You really expect me to believe you?"

 

"Sam.” the demon said. “This is a Poughkeepsie Situation."

 

Sam looked away, staring at a spot on the floor near the opposite side of the room.

 

Crowley snorted like an angry bull, and then Sam felt a finger tap the top of his head.

 

He was instantly thrown into a vision (hallucination?) of him and Dean being taken from their cells by Sanchez and several armed guards. They were marched down the hall, away from the interrogation room, and through the narrow door at the end into the fading sunlight. Dean, slightly ahead, started to walk toward the van parked thirty yards away.

 

Sam realized that the guards escorting Dean had turned back while Dean still walked forward, about the same time he realized that Sanchez had raised his gun and aimed for the back of Dean’s head.

 

“NO!” he shouted, shoving a guard aside, desperately trying to throw himself at Sanchez.

 

He was too far away.

 

Dean started to turn at the exact second the shot rang out.

 

Sam was tackled by at least guards, felling him long before he reached Sanchez, but he saw Dean go down.

 

A moment later, he was back in his cell, and Crowley, still wearing the unfamiliar vessel, silently held out his hand.

 

Sam sat up, shook his head, and reached for the demon’s arm.

 

Crowley stepped closer, extending his arm.

 

Sam almost gagged at the first taste of the blood, but he forced himself to swallow two mouthfuls.

 

Crowley gently pulled his arm away.

 

“That’s enough.” The demon said, slipping the suit jacket back on. “Bloody Sears and Roebuck polyester excuse for a suit.” He muttered before looking back up at Sam. “Now. Take a few moments, and let yourself get angry. Get angry about the fact Sanchez intends to kill you and your brother. Get angry about being arrested for saving the world yet again. Get angry about what Lucifer did to you. Get angry about being fed demon blood in the first place, or about what happened to your mother, or about your prom date turning out to be a demon. I don’t care what you get angry about, but you need to pull up every feeling of anger you’ve ever had in your life, and channel that into getting away. Head due west once you're out.”

 

There was a commotion outside in the hall.

 

“That’s my cue.” Crowley said, and smoked out of the vessel.

 

The unconscious vessel slid to the floor just as the door slid open and two armed guards rushed in.

 

“What did you do to him?” one of them demanded, pointing the gun at Sam.

 

“Get out!” Sam shouted at him. “This is my cell and I didn’t say you can come in here!”

 

“Why is there blood on your mouth?” the other guard asked.

 

“Watch him.” The first guard said, gesturing toward Sam, while he bent down to try to rouse the unconscious man on the floor. “Hey! Williams! Hey, are you okay?”

 

The agent opened his eyes and shook his head. He looked around in confusion. “Why am I here? This is my day off.”

 

The guards exchanged looks.

 

“Williams, you’ve been here all day.” The first one said.

 

“What time is it?” Williams asked.

 

“About noon.” The second guard answered. “We were doing the hall sweep before Joe brought the prisoners’ lunches when we saw you were in here.”

 

“Noon?” Williams shook his head. “I’ve got to pick up Special Agent Camp. He’s flying in this afternoon.”

 

The guards looked at one another again.

 

“Camp has been here for over a week.” The second guard said.

 

“No, Camp is flying in today, the 9th.” Williams told them.

 

“Williams, today is the 20th.” The first guard said. “Maybe you should lay back down. I’m going to call the medical team down here.”

 

The guard radioed for the medical team, saying that an agent was down.

 

Camp answered, asking what had happened.

 

The guard had just begun explaining that they had found Williams unconscious and confused in Sam Winchester’s cell when Sanchez himself stormed into the room, gun drawn.

 

“What did you do to my agent?” he asked Sam.

 

“Nothing.” Sam glared at the man.

 

“The door wasn’t locked.” The first guard said quietly to Sanchez. “We don’t know why Williams was in here. Winchester’s mouth was bloody. Williams didn’t remember leaving his house and he thinks today is the 9th.”

 

“Just like what they did to President Rooney.” Sanchez groaned.

 

He bent down and picked up first one, then the other of Williams’ hands, turning them over as he looked at them.

 

“Well it doesn’t look like you punched … “ He trailed off as he saw the trickle of blood running down Williams’ wrist.

 

"Take off his jacket" Sanchez ordered.

 

The guards helped Williams out of his coat, and the small wound on his arm was immediately visible.

 

"What did you do to him?" Sanchez shouted directly into Sam's face.

 

"He cut himself." Sam replied calmly. "The knife is in his pocket."

 

" _Why_ would Special Agent Williams cut himself?" Sanchez asked, biting off the words.

 

"So I could drink his blood." Sam said.

 

Sanchez threw his hands up in the air, then covered his face with them.

 

"All right." He turned around, facing his subordinates. "Get Williams to the infirmary. We're done here. The Winchesters are being transferred tonight, and that's not soon enough for me."

 

The two guards lifted Williams to his feet, handing him his jacket to carry while they walked him out of the room. Sanchez followed, with one last look at Sam before the door slammed behind him and the lock slid into place.

 

"Moving us tonight." Sam said to the empty cell. "Get angry."

 

* * *

 

About the time the shadows got long and the dinner tray was usually being shoved through the slot, the door opened.

 

Two guards in full body armor stepped in with automatic weapons in their hands and ordered Sam to stand. Sanchez followed.

 

"You're being transferred to another facility for further questioning by another agency." Sanchez announced.

 

"No dinner?" Sam asked.

 

"Not here." Sanchez shrugged. "They can feed you when you get there."

 

"Because if you're going to take us out in the woods and shoot us, no point wasting good food, right?" Sam asked. "And if we're hungry and thirsty, that would make it harder for us to run."

 

Sanchez momentarily startled before he quickly recovered. "You're being transferred to the custody of the NSA. If you cooperate, I won't have a reason to shoot you."

 

"Yeah." Sam nodded, holding out his hands for the third guard, who stepped into the room with handcuffs.

 

Only handcuffs, no leg shackles. When Sam had been brought in, and every time he had been taken for questioning, his ankles had been shackled with a short chain.

 

Sam's hands were bound in front of him, which was a violation of procedure if his ankles weren't shackled as well.

 

He was marched out of the cell, down the hall, and watched by four armed guards as Dean's cell was opened, and the procedure repeated.

 

Sam smiled for the first time in seven weeks as Dean emerged from the doorway. His hair was too long and he was pale from lack of sunlight, but he looked healthy. There were no obvious injuries. He may have gained a little weight, as he looked a little softer, but that may have just been the coveralls.

 

"Sammy." Dean said, looking concerned.

 

"You'll have plenty of time to catch up later." Sanchez said. "Let's go."

 

"Where's Camp?" Dean asked.

 

"Gone for the day." Sanchez replied. "I'll tell him you said goodbye."

 

Dean's hands were also cuffed in front of him, and his ankles were not shackled.

 

Dean looked at his feet, then at Sam.

 

Sam nodded, then pointedly looked at the guns. He hoped Dean understood the message.

 

They paused at the doors at the end of the hall. Someone entered a code into a keypad to open the doorway to the airlock. Sanchez radioed someone and gave a password to open the door leading outside.

 

It was late in the day, maybe an hour until sunset. The transport van was parked in exactly the same position it had been in Sam's vision. Dean was in front of him, with guards on either side.

 

"Dean." Sam said as he stopped and turned around. “Poughkeepsie.”

 

Dean’s facial expression didn’t change but his body went completely rigid.

 

"Move, Winchester." Sanchez ordered.

 

"So you can shoot us in the back?" Sam asked.

 

"I don't care where we shoot you." Sanchez shrugged. "It's not like anyone will care, as long as you're out of the way for good."

 

He raised his gun and pointed it directly at Sam's head.

 

"No!" Dean shouted behind him.

 

Sam held out his hands, and Sanchez's gun flew into them. He shifted the gun into his left hand, as he held out his right. All of the gun barrels on the guards' weapons bent downward just enough to keep them from firing properly.

 

Sanchez reached into his coat and drew another gun.

 

Sam shouted something unintelligible. The second gun flew into Dean's hands, and all of the soldiers fell to the ground.

 

Dean shot Sanchez in the leg.

 

Sam turned to Dean and hissed. "Run!"

 

Dean hesitated for a moment to see which way Sam was heading. As soon as Sam broke toward the west, Dean fell into step beside him.

 

"Your nose is bleeding." Dean said loudly, still a bit deaf from the sound of the gunshot.

 

"Yeah." Sam answered. "Save your breath."

 

"What did you do to the guards?" Dean asked.

 

"Made them dizzy." Sam said. "Harder for them to chase us, and there probably aren't too many more on hand. Sanchez was going to shoot us, so he probably made sure as few people as possible were in the building."

 

"How did you know Sanchez was going to shoot us?" Dean asked, his voice dropping.

 

"Crowley tipped me off." Sam answered.

 

"Crowley." Dean repeated, stopping in his tracks.

 

"Yeah, Crowley." Sam nodded, pausing for a moment, and then pulling on Dean's arm. "We'll talk about it later, but we've got to go now. I don't know how long the guards will stay down. Crowley said Cas and Mom would be out here to pick us up."

 

"We trust Crowley now?" Dean pressed on.

 

"Everything happened just exactly like he said it would." Sam said. "Come on man, we gotta move."

 

Dean took a deep breath, nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled along as Sam started running again.

 

They figured they had probably covered four miles when they came to a large creek.

 

"We need water." Dean said, stopping at the edge. "This looks pretty clean. It's got enough current to wash away most contaminants."

 

Sam nodded, dropped to his knees, and scooped handfuls of water into his mouth as Dean did the same.

 

Sam sat back and leaned against a tree, winded from the hard running after being confined for seven weeks.

 

Dean scooted over to lean against the same tree, sitting a 90 degree angle, with their shoulders touching.

 

"We can't stay long." Dean said. "Where do you think we are?"

 

"Not the Rockies." Sam answered, shaking his head. "Mountains aren't big enough, it's not cold enough, and the air isn't dry enough. Probably the Ozarks or near the Tennessee/North Carolina border. There's military bases in both places, make it easy to fly personnel into a base and then drive them over here."

 

"It's gonna get a whole lot colder here in a couple hours." Dean said. "We've got to get across that creek as dry as possible to keep from freezing when it's dark."

 

"We should cross separately, throw them off track when they come looking for us." Sam suggested. “Hold your hands out.”

 

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, and both sets of handcuffs popped open.

 

The brothers made very obvious footprints in the mud at the edge of the creek. They took off their shoes and socks and stripped off their coveralls, wading into the creek in their undershirts and boxers.

 

They stepped into the creek deep enough so that the running water would sweep away their footprints, then separated. Dean went about a half mile north while Sam went a half mile south. They stepped out of the water and dressed quickly, making certain to leave as many footprints as possible in the mud so that there would be two exit points for the pursuers to find. They each left another false trail leading at least 100 yards away from the direction they were heading, breaking branches and disturbing ground cover along the way, and covered their tracks as much as possible while making their way back to each other.

 

They had made it less than a mile from the creek when they heard shouts behind them. Both brothers stopped and looked behind them.

 

"They're at the creek." Dean said. "I had hoped for a little more distance."

 

"Sounds like there's more than the six, too." Sam agreed. "Probably brought over backup from the base."

 

"If that's the case, they'll probably have helicopters flying over soon." Dean nodded "Come on, we gotta move."

 

They ran as hard as they could for over a mile, but the combination of cold and fatigue after such a long period of reduced activity meant they both knew the troops were gaining on them.

 

"Here." Sam pulled Dean off to the right, into a narrow ravine that Dean had started to skirt around.

 

Sam pointed to a spot where brush grew up near an overhanging rock, creating a natural shelter. The two of them were barely able to squeeze into the space.

 

Sam closed his eyes and a breeze swept along the ravine for a second, just enough to settle the leaves and cover any tracks they had just made.

 

They huddled together, Dean pulling Sam's hands into a fold of his jumpsuit to warm them and doing the same with his own.

 

Footsteps approached, but thankfully not as close as they feared.

 

Sam closed his eyes and shuddered slightly.

 

There was a faint crash far off in the forest, and the guards ran toward that direction.

 

Dean reached up and wiped a hand across Sam's upper lip, showing him a smear of blood.

 

Sam nodded, then pulled Dean to his feet as they ran the opposite direction from the troops.

 

“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” Dean said.

 

“We’ll talk about it later.” Sam answered. “I did what I had to do to get us out of there.”

 

Dean stopped. “Sam.”

 

“Dean.” Sam sighed. “I didn’t want to, especially not after the Trials burned the demon blood out of me. You can ask Crowley. But if the choice was to drink demon blood or to let you die, there was no choice. It was only two swallows. Just enough to kickstart my powers again.”

 

Dean looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. We’ve got to stop doing shit like this for each other.”

 

“Come on.” Sam pulled at Dean’s arm, getting his older brother moving again. “We gotta get back to the bunker before I start coming down.”

 

A helicopter flew overhead.

 

“We knew that was coming.” Dean sighed. “Hopefully it’s getting dark enough that they should have trouble seeing us.”

 

“But they probably have heat sensors so they can pick up our location and radio it back to the guys on the ground.” Sam said.

 

“Which means we’ve got to keep moving.” Dean nodded, and they both broke into a run again.

 

They continued heading west until they reached a two-lane road.

 

“Now where?” Dean asked.

 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. Crowley just said to head west.”

 

“Cas, you out here?” Dean called as loudly as he dared.

 

There was no answer.

 

“Okay, so which way?” Dean asked again.

 

Sam turned all the way around, looking around them.

 

“There!” he pointed at a plant. “Missouri Primrose. We have to be in the Ozarks, because this doesn’t grow in Tennessee.”

 

“Which means the bunker is northwest of here.” Dean pointed.

 

“North.” Sam said.

 

“North.” Dean agreed. “Stay close to the tree line. Make it harder for the chopper to see us.”

 

They had only walked ¼ mile when they saw a dark colored Dodge Charger approaching.

 

“There they are!” Sam said, stepping out to the edge of the road.

 

Mary stopped the car. She and Cas both got out, quickly hugged Dean and Sam, and then bundled them into the backseat.

 

She turned the car and headed toward the bunker.

 

Cas didn’t say anything, but both brothers were sure that Cas knew what had happened by the way he kept turning to look at Sam.

 

“There are some sandwiches and drinks in the cooler.” Mary told them, looking up at her sons in the rearview mirror. “We didn’t know if you would be hungry.”

 

“Starving.” Dean said, opening the lid.

 

He pulled out two sandwiches, offering one to Sam.

 

Sam shook his head. “Not a good idea right now.”

 

Dean nodded. He put the sandwich back, and handed Sam a bottle of water instead. “Drink. You’re going to need this.”

 

Sam took the bottle of water and obediently started drinking.

 

“Sam, are you okay?” Mary asked.

 

“He alright for now, but he’s going to be sick in a few hours.” Dean said. “We need to get him back to the bunker as soon as possible.”

 

“What can we do?” Mary offered.

 

“Nothing.” Sam shook his head. “Just get me home so I can do it there.”

 

“Do what there?” Mary asked.

 

“It’s like Dean said.” Sam answered. “I’m going to be sick in a couple hours.”

 

She seemed to realize that was all the information she was going to get for the time being, because she stopped pressing.

 

“Eat.” Sam urged Dean. “You’re probably going to need your strength in a little while.”

 

Dean ate one sandwich, looking over at Sam apologetically several times.

 

Mary had a Bluetooth headset on, and spoke to someone periodically who was apparently directing her around traffic and notifying her of police activity.

 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean finally asked.

 

“The Brits. Mostly Mick. Ketch has created a couple diversions for us.” She said to him, and then asked the person on the other side of the headset about the upcoming turn.

 

“Since when do you work with them?” Sam asked.

 

“Since my boys went missing.” Mary answered. “I would have worked with nearly anyone to get the two of you back. Like the King of Hell.”

 

“What did Crowley tell you?” Sam asked.

 

“Just that he had located you, that he was going to help you escape and direct you to that highway, and for us to keep driving back and forth until we found you.” Cas spoke for the first time in quite a while. “Mick monitored the police communications to give us a more exact location.”

 

“So why aren’t the cops stopping this car?” Dean asked.

 

“This.” Mary pointed to a small black dome mounted on the dashboard. “It makes the car invisible to radar. Ketch gave it to me. They can’t see us from the helicopter, and officers on the ground can’t get a fix on our speed. We just have to avoid them seeing us visually as much as possible, which is why Mick is still monitoring police channels, to keep us away from them.”

 

“Where were we?” Sam asked.

 

“We picked you up near the Missouri-Arkansas border, southwest of Springfield.” Cas told them.

 

“Shit.” Sam leaned his head back against the seat. “That means we’re a good 500 miles from the bunker. We may have to stop and find someplace to ride this out.”

 

“How long can you hold on?” Dean asked.

 

“Not that long.” Sam shook his head.

 

“We’re averaging 110 miles an hour, thanks to the Brits.” Mary said, looking up at them in the mirror briefly. “If we could go all interstate we’d probably get there faster, but we have to take some back roads.”

 

“Sam.” Cas said, turning and reaching out his hand. “Let me help you.”

 

“How?” Sam asked suspiciously.

 

“I can put you to sleep.” Cas offered. “It will slow your metabolism some. I don’t know how much more time it will give you, but it will give you some. I wish I was still able to teleport, as Dean calls it.”

 

Sam shook his head. “Cas, I appreciate it, but I’m already starting to shake and sweat. We don’t have another four hours.”

 

“Mom, stop the car.” Dean said.

 

“What?” Mary asked, her voice raised in surprise. “Where?”

 

“Here. Anywhere.” Dean said. “What phones do we have?”

 

“I brought a couple of yours.” Mary said.

 

Cas handed a cloth shopping bag over the seat.

 

Dean dumped the phones onto the seat between him and Sam while Mary slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road.

 

Dean picked out a phone, scrolled through the contacts, and dialed.

 

“We need you here, now.”

 

By the time all of them got out of the car, Crowley stood in front of the headlights, back in his usual vessel.

 

“We’ve got to get Sam back to the bunker, now.” Dean demanded.

 

Crowley looked like he was going to argue for a moment, even started to open his mouth, but then he took a good look at Sam and nodded.

 

“Come here.” He said.

 

Sam stepped closer.

 

Dean walked up beside Sam. “Me too.” Dean told him. “He’s going to need me. And I’m not leaving him to do this alone again.”

 

Crowley looked around them to Castiel. “Get Mary back to the bunker as soon as possible. I’ll take these two ahead.”

 

Cas nodded.

 

Crowley reached out, put a hand on each brother’s arm, and the three of them disappeared.

 

 

By the time they reached the bunker, Cas had already explained the demon blood and the detox that would take place.

 

As soon as they stepped into the front door, they could hear Sam screaming in the dungeon. They rushed down there, to be met by Dean at the door.

 

“How is he?” Cas asked.

 

Dean shrugged and shook his head. “He’s hallucinating Lucifer right now. It’s been going on for … well, since about half an hour after we got here.”

 

“What can we do to help him?” Mary asked.

 

“Not much.” Dean shook his head again. “I have him restrained so that he can’t hurt himself. In between the various hallucinations and seizures, I give him a little water, tell him I’m there, but while it’s going on, he doesn’t seem to even know I’m there. He just has to get it out of his system.”

 

“Let me help.” Mary offered.

 

“No, he won’t want you to see him like this.” Dean told her. “The best thing the two of you can do is just stay away right now.”

 

Cas tugged on Mary’s arm. “Come on, I’ll make some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”

 

Mary and Cas sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and pretending to read or use the computer.

 

They tried not to flinch when Sam shouted, or screamed, or howled. They only rushed downstairs once, when the loud crash propelled both of them from their chairs.

 

A seizure had caused Sam to turn over the cot Dean had strapped him to. Dean carefully held the top half of Sam’s body and Cas grabbed his feet. Mary stood back, unable to do anything but watch.

 

When the shuddering subsided, Cas cautiously let go. Dean smoothed Sam’s hair away from his face, murmuring softly.

 

Mary came over and kissed his forehead. “I’m here, and I love you.” She whispered.

 

Sam had gone limp, his eyes closed.

 

Dean walked them to the door, looking back over his shoulder at Sam every few seconds.

 

“That was the worst one.” He said. “It’s been easier this time. He didn’t drink much, and I think me staying with him helps.”

 

“Yeah.” Cas nodded. “Do you want me to stay?”

 

Dean shook his head with a glance at Mary. “No, I’ll yell if I need you. Just go back upstairs.”

 

He walked back over to sit on the floor beside his unconscious brother before they left.    

 

* * *

 

  

Dean came into the kitchen shortly before dawn and dropped the remote of a baby monitor between Mary and Cas.

 

"Sam's asleep." he said. "And if this is like the last time, it means the worst of it is out of his system, and he'll probably sleep most of the next 24 hours. If he wakes up before I get back, call me and I'll come straight back."

 

"Where are you going?" Mary asked, turning in her chair to see her son who was already walking away.

 

"Me and Davies need to have a little talk." He answered, still walking.

 

Mary started to rise, but Cas but his hand on her arm and shook his head.

 

"Whatever Dean is going to talk to Davies about, we need to let him get out of his system first."

 

Mary sat back down, once again realizing how little she knew her own children.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean was leaning against the front of his car when Davies arrived.

 

"Winchester?" he asked, getting out of his own car. "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. I trust your brother is recovering."

 

"Sam will be okay." Dean nodded, pushing himself to stand upright. "You and your guys helped get us out, so we owe you one. Well, here it is. I'm going to find that blonde bitch, and I'm going to kill her. That's not negotiable. You can try to hide her, you can try to protect her, but I will find her, and I will kill her. As long as the rest of your people stay out of the way, no one else will be harmed."

 

"Well." Davies shook his head slightly. "Not the conversation I was expecting here today. May I ask why Lady Bevell is not long for this world?"

 

"She raped my brother." Dean said coldly. "She drugged him and she used sex to try to get information from him."

 

Davies' eyes went wide for a moment and he barely stifled his gasp before he recovered his composure. "I assure you, Mr. Winchester, those sorts of methods are not and have never been approved by the administration. As I've said before, Lady Bevell deviated from her assigned mission and from approved methods and protocols. If you can prove these serious allegations, the organization will make sure she is punished."

 

"I'm not going to ask my brother to go in front of your disciplinary committee or whoever they are and tell them the details. He probably wouldn't do it, and it was hard enough on me having to watch him hallucinate about it this morning ... "

 

"Wait," Davies interrupted. "If he was hallucinating ... "

 

"He was hallucinating that she still had him, and that she was doing it again." Dean told him flatly. "Unfortunately I've been with my brother through enough hallucinations that I've learned to ask the right questions to find out if he's reliving something that actually happened, or dreaming up new nightmares."

 

"I see ... " Davies began, but Dean cut him off.

 

"There's nothing for you to see, or talk about, or negotiate. This was a warning, pure and simple. The bitch will die for what she did to my brother. I don't care where in the world she tries to hide. And if anyone tries to stop me or get in the way, well. It probably won't be good for their health." Dean turned toward the driver's side of the car. "I'm done here, and I need to get back and get some rest before Sam wakes up again. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can turn her over, or I will come and find her. And trust me, I will find her."

 

He got in the car and drove away, refusing to look in the mirror to see what Davies did.


End file.
